


Like diving head first into an empty swimming pool

by WeAreTheLuckyOnes



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bipolar Disorder, Blow Jobs, Drug Use, Lap Dances, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22463083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreTheLuckyOnes/pseuds/WeAreTheLuckyOnes
Summary: Mickey's only really just coming to grips with his sexuality when he meets Ian, a go-go dancer at a male strip club with a shock of red hair and a whole host of emotional problems.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 6
Kudos: 156





	Like diving head first into an empty swimming pool

**Author's Note:**

> So... I watched the entire series in a week and a half in order to watch the season 10 finale when it came out and this is what I have to show for it, you're welcome. 
> 
> I have no idea where the idea for the title came from, I heard it somewhere, but I thought it was pretty accurate.

Mickey sees him for the first time in a male strip club in Boystown. He really hadn't wanted to come, but Mandy had dragged him, and he was trying to be more accepting of his own sexuality. Especially now his dad and his bullshit was in jail for the foreseeable future.

He's skinny, pale and freckled, with bright red hair and little gold shorts, and Mickey's brain short circuits. He's never seen a man who deserved to be called pretty before, but this guy's definitely it.

Mandy catches him looking and laughs, smacking his shoulder. "C'mon asshole, I'll buy you a dance."

"What? No." Mickey says, dragging Mandy by the elbow to the bar and away from the pretty redhead and his gyrating hips. He flags down a bartender and orders them drinks.

"You good?" Mandy asks, sipping at her whiskey sour.

"Shut up." Mickey sends a look Mandy's way he's sure could curdle milk. He chugs his beer and slams it back onto the counter and says, "Let's go."

"C'mon, let's just stay a little longer." Mandy pulls Mickey back down onto the stool. "We'll get you a lap dance from the pretty redhead you were eyeing when we came in." She pats his shoulder, grinning.

"Nah," Mickey replies, shaking his head, ordering another drink. He wont take a lap dance, but he will take another drink, and he might even stay.

He's onto his third drink, barely listening to Mandy's boy trouble rant when he feels someone squeeze between him and the guy next to him. When he turns to chew the guy out, he's faced again with the redhead. He tries to pretend he's not imagining biting the freckles on the guy's shoulders. The bartender pours the redhead a shot of rum without having to be asked, and he drinks it down before ordering another. He catches Mickey watching him and send him a toothy grin and a wink Mickey's way before he's bounding away. He watches the redhead's ass as he goes.

Mandy raises her eyebrows and Mickey tells her to fuck off. "C'mon I wanna go sit in front of the stage." She drags him off his stool and towards the couches in front of the stage. They're black leather, and Mickey belatedly realises it's so it's easy to clean stains off of.

"I think we should fucking go," Mickey says, trying to stand up, only to be pulled back down by Mandy. She tells him to wait, so he does, until the redhead's coming out onto the stage, and Mickey realises why.

He's mesmerising, and Mickey can't keep his eyes off him. The way his hips move, the ripple of muscle under his skin, the flush in his cheeks, it's intoxicating. Without meaning to, he leans forward, elbows on his knees to get a closer look.

The redhead pads across the stage towards Mickey, grin sharp and full of teeth, one foot landing between Mickey's thighs. He thrusts his crotch towards Mickey's face a few times before he moves on, shaking his ass in the face of an older man with an expensive suit and a shitty dye job.

Mickey's heart is hammering in his chest and his dick is hard, and he's freaking the fuck out. "Fucking Christ." He mutters under his breath, willing his hard on to disappear, climbing off the couch away from the stage. Mandy follows him, slipping her hand around his wrist, squeezing.

-*-*-

Mickey can't make himself go back to the club, but he can't stop thinking about the redhead either. He thinks about him so much he thinks he's imagining it when he sees him at The Alibi a couple weeks later.

He's wearing clothes this time, but that doesn't stop Mickey from thinking about him without them, dancing on top of the bar. Mickey's so fucked.

He storms up to Frank Gallagher, local degenerate shithead, and smacks him upside the head. Mickey likes him even better now.

"Ten minutes, Frank! I asked you to watch Liam for ten fucking minutes!" The redhead looks livid, and Mickey thinks he might hit Frank again. Mickey really hopes he does. "For fuck's sake Frank, what the fuck is wrong with you? He's five!"

"I left him in front of the TV, he's fine." Frank slurs, slapping Ian's shoulder before going back to his drink. He hammers another nail in his coffin when he says, "You got any money?" The redhead punches him in the nose, causing blood to spurt out, before he storms out of the bar. The bloody nose doesn't stop Frank from finishing his beer.

Mickey orders another drink and gives Kev an inquiring look, careful not to look too curious.

"Frank's son, Ian."

Mickey nods his head, swallows down his shot and leaves.

-*-*-

The next time Mickey goes to the _Fairy Tail_ , the night of the bar incident, he goes alone. He doesn't even know if the redhead - Ian - will be there, but he feels like he needs to go nonetheless. He orders shots and a beer at the bar and ignores the way the bartender eyes him in favour of scouring the club, looking for the redhead. When Mickey finally sees him, he's grinding on top of some old fuck, and he feels irrational angel pound in his chest. 

Fuck, he's going crazy.

Mickey climbs off the barstool and towards the redhead when he's done with the old guy. He doesn't know what he's doing, but he doesn't let it stop him. The redhead turns towards him when he gets close, grin sharp, and says, "Hey baby, wanna dance? Twenty-five."

Mickey reaches into his pocket for the cash, holding it out for Ian to take. He doesn't. Instead, he gives Mickey that toothy, sharp grin and holds open the waistband of his little gold shorts. Mickey tucks the money underneath it. He gets backed into one of the couches before his lap is full of freckled redhead. He has no idea what he's doing, but he guesses the point is to let the guy who's giving you the lapdance do all the work.

Mickey feels hypnotised by the movement of Ian's body, eyes caught on the thrust of his hips and the sweat trickling down his skin. He desperately wants to touch him, wants to feel the muscles under his skin move as his hips roll, but he's sure they've probably got a rule about touching like female strip clubs do. The pure want in his body makes the tips of his fingers tingle.

When it's over, Ian strokes his thumb over Mickey's lips, catching it on the bottom lip before he smiles wolfishly and climbs out of Mickey's lap. "Later, baby."

Mickey takes a deep breath in through his nose and digs the heel of his hand into his dick, willing his hard-on to go down, before he climbs out of the chair and leaves the club.

-*-*-

Mickey goes back to the club so many times that Ian starts recognising Mickey. Despite Mickey already knowing Ian's name, Ian doesn't know his, so he calls him _pretty boy_ and Mickey calls him _firecrotch_. Mostly cause it's fucking hilarious and it makes Ian grin.

One of the nights Mickey comes to the club, later than he normally would, he doesn't even get inside. He can see Ian in the alley with some guy. He's barely dressed, despite it being below freezing out, and he doesn't even look fully conscious. Definitely not conscious enough for what the guy with him is doing to him.

"Fuck me," Mickey mutters under his breath, kicking a mound of snow before he stomps over to the two, pulling the guy off Ian and punching him in the face. The guy calls Mickey an asshole and hits him back so hard it knocks him off his feet. It makes his nose bleeds, but he can tell it's not been broken (again), thank god. Mickey climbs to his feet and lunges at the guy. They crash to the ground, and Mickey hits him a few more times until his face is fucked up and he's not fighting back anymore. When he stops moving, unconscious but not dead, Mickey climbs off of him, spitting blood out onto the ground next to him.

When Mickey goes back to Ian, he's passed out with his face in the snow. "Jesus fucking Christ."

He can't call the cops, not after knocking some guy unconscious while on parole, even if the guy was trying to rape someone, so instead, he picks Ian up and puts him over his shoulder. He takes Ian back to his car, parked around the block, and dumps him in the backseat. He takes Ian back to his place, despite knowing where the Gallagher house is because he's not sure he wants to answer any questions. Mandy's probably home, Iggy too, so he tries to be as quiet as he possibly can, carrying Ian to his bedroom, dropping him onto his bed. He takes Ian's shoes and socks off then throws the blanket over him. He sleeps on the floor next to the bed.

-*-*-

Mickey wakes the next morning when someone - most likely Ian - trips over him and falls to the floor next to him with a heavy thud. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," Mickey mutters, holding onto his side, ribs sore where Ian tripped over him.

"What the fuck?" Ian says, pushing himself up onto his hands, looking back at Ian. "Who the fuck are you? Where the fuck am I?"

Mickey climbs to his feet and stares down at Ian, rubbing at his sore ribcage. "Mickey, my bedroom. Thanks for kicking me, asshole."

"I'm in a stranger's fucking bedroom, there's a dude on the fucking floor. I didn't fucking kick you, I fell over you, there's a difference." Ian pushes himself to his feet and Mickey enjoys the way his muscles bunch in his arms. When he's standing, he goes green around the edges and stumbles to the bed, head between his knees. "Ugh, God."

Mickey crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at Ian. "Some guy was getting handsy while you were basically fuckin' passed out in an alley, you take something?"

"Couple oxy. Why ain't I in hospital? Drunk tank?"

"Cause I beat the shit out of the guy, and you being a Gallagher, didn't think you'd have the five grand to fork out for a trip to the ER."

"You thought right," Ian says, lifting his head to look up at Mickey. "Got any aspirin?" Mickey finds a bottle in the top drawer of the tallboy, throwing it onto the bed next to Ian. "Thanks. Don't I know you?" He takes the aspirin with a sip of flat beer from a can on Mickey's bedside table.

"'Spose so," Mickey says, crossing his arms over his chest again.

Ian stares at him for a moment, considering, then nods. "Right, pretty boy." He pats down his pockets and pulls out his phone, frowning when no amount of button pushing turns it on. "You got a smoke?"

Mickey throws one at him from the packet on top of the tallboy, followed by a lighter. 

"Cheers." Ian lights the cigarette and lets it hang out of his mouth. "Where're my shoes?" Mickey throws his shoes to his feet and then lights his own cigarette. He watches as Ian puts his socks and shoes on, and before he's even said _thank you_ to Mickey for saving his fucking life, he's gone.

"Well fuck you, too, asshole."

-*-*-

Mickey doesn't go back to the _Fairy Tail_ for a while, mostly because he's fucking angry at Ian for being such a fucking dick, but it doesn't matter anyway. Ian is at The Alibi when Mickey gets there to hand Yevgeny over to Svetlana. He's leaning over the bar, whispering conspiratorially with Kev, and Mickey tries to pretend he's not staring at the curve of Ian's back and the round of his ass.

"Where's Svetlana?" Mickey asks Kev, interrupting their conversation.

Ian turns around to look at Mickey and frowns in both confusion and recognition. His face softens when he sees Yevgeny in the carrier under his arm.

"Rub'n'tug," Kev replies, jerking his thumb towards the ceiling. Mickey can hear it now, the vague thumping and groaning. He sits Yevgeny's carrier and watches Ian lean in to coo at his son without even asking, Kev holds up a glass and Mickey nods.

"What's his name?" Ian asks, tickling Yevgeny's belly, babbling nonsense to him.

"Yevgeny," Kev says when Mickey's too busy drinking his beer and being pissed off at Ian to answer.

"Hi, Yevgeny." Ian coos, tickling under Yevgeny's chin until the baby gurgles his happiness. "Oh man, you're just the cutest." Ian looks over at Mickey who lights a cigarette and doesn't look back at him. He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he says something else. "Can I hold him?" Mickey waves his hand dismissively and Ian takes that as a yes, pulling Yevgeny out of the carrier and onto his hip. Mickey ignores the way watching Ian with his son makes him go warm inside.

An older woman climbs down the stairs and Svetlana follows, wiping a thumb over the corner of her mouth, smug. She sees Mickey looking and licks her lips, wiggling her eyebrows at him, which makes him snort. when she reaches the bar she pulls money from between her tits and hands it to Kev.

"Give Yevgeny." She tells Ian, taking her son, babbling to Yevgeny in Russian. "You good baby for daddy, yes?"

"I'll call you later, Kev," Ian says, drinking the last of his beer, climbing off the stool. He looks over his shoulder at Mickey. "Thanks." Mickey knows he's not thanking him for letting him hold Yevgeny.

"Whatever."

-*-*-

Mickey goes back to the club. He's still pissed off, but he's also human, and he's desperate to see Ian's little gold shorts again. He goes to the bar, and he doesn't even have to ask for his usual shots and beer, the bartender just pours it automatically. As he's finishing his shots, he feels a hand slide up his back. He turns around, ready to pouch someone in the throat, only to be faced with Ian and his little gold shorts.

Ian gives him a wolfish grin and leans forward to whisper into Mickey's ear. "Come with me."

Mickey accepts Ian's hand in his and lets himself be dragged through the club towards the back. He has no idea where they're going, but he goes anyway.

Ian leads him to a private room and sits him down on a couch in it, climbing into his lap. When Mickey reaches into his pocket for his money, Ian stops him, pushing his hand away. "This one's a freebie."

"Uh," Mickey says stupidly, staring up at Ian, mesmerised by his pale eyelashes. "I don't-"

Ian shushes him, wrapping his hand around Mickey's face, over his mouth before he's climbing to the floor between Mickey's thighs. Mickey doesn't realise what he's doing until Ian unzips his pants.

"Ian-" Mickey tries through Ian's fingers, heart hammering in his chest. Ian shushes him again, reaching into Mickey's pants for his dick and pulling it out. "Ian, c'mon-"

Mickey stops fighting when Ian swallows his cock into his mouth. Instead, he leans back into the couch and groans, the sound muffled by Ian's fingers.

Ian's really good at sucking dick, he's got like no gag reflex and he knows exactly what to do with his tongue to make Mickey feel like he's exploding from the inside. He plays with Mickey's balls, squeezing them between his fingers, and Mickey's never really been into that before, but he thinks he might be now.

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ." Mickey mutters when he comes, curling in on himself. Ian climbs to his feet, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He leaves before anything's said, and Mickey just sits there dumbly, dick still hanging out of his pants.

-*-*-

"Being in love with a stripper is weird right?" Mickey slurs, lighting the blunt between his lips. His nose is still bleeding from the punch thrown at him at The Alibi, and his knuckles fucking sting. "I mean, maybe not in love? Fuck, probably just obsessed. Is he even a stripper? Are go-go dancers’ strippers?"

"Yes," Mandy says, taking the blunt from between Mickey's lips to take a drag. "S'weird. And yes, a go-go dancer is a stripper."

"Right, thought so." He lays back against the pillows on his bed and accepts the blunt, taking a few drags from it. "A stripper sucked me off."

"Shit, at the Boystown place?” Mandy opens another beer and chugs it. “The redhead?” Mickey doesn’t reply, but that’s probably answer enough for her. Mandy hums and takes the blunt. “Ian Gallagher. I’ve got his number, we used to be sorta friends in high school. I thought I recognised him at the club, didn’t remember till later. Could call him over?”

Mickey sits up, staring at his sister who’s already got her phone out, considering it. On one hand, it’s sorta weird, but on the other, he’d really like to see Ian again, and he’s drunk enough and stoned enough not to care about how fucking mental he’s being. He doesn’t have to say anything. Mandy knows him well enough to know he wants it, so she calls him.

“Hey, Ian, yeah, Mandy. Haven’t talked in ages. Yeah? Yeah, you wanna come over? Me and my brother. No, the other one, Mickey.” Mandy pauses and Mickey can’t hear Ian on the other end either. “Yeah? Cool, you remember my address?” Mandy laughs. “Whatever. Yeah, see you soon. Bye.” Mandy hangs up and puts her phone down, grinning at Mickey. “You’re welcome, asshole. Just be fucking quiet when you fuck, I’m sick of hearing my brothers' sex lives.”

Mickey throws an empty beer can at her and it bounces off her head.

“Asshole.”

They’ve finished the blunt started a new one when Ian arrives, laden with more beer and more weed, that toothy grin on his face. Mandy leads Ian into Mickey’s bedroom cause Mickey’s too lazy to get out of bed and tells him to sit anywhere. Mickey hands Ian the blunt between his fingers. Ian takes a drag, and Mickey knows the way he blows it out, mouth in a perfect ‘o’ is for his benefit, cause he’s staring straight at him. Mickey’s surprised he can still get it up while he’s so drunk.

Mandy falls onto the bed on her side, propping her head up with her hand and says, “What have you been up to, Ian? Besides the whole-”

“Stripper thing?” Ian asks, amused, shrugging his shoulders. “I dunno, not much. Almost went to military prison for impersonating my brother on my application, and for trying to jack a helicopter, got out of it though, ‘cause they think I’m crazy.”

Mandy snorts, smoke coming out of her nose as she does it. “Wow, okay. Are you crazy?”

Ian gives them a sharp grin. “Probably.”

Mandy hands Mickey the blunt and says, “Got the munchies. Pizza?”

“Nah, McDonald's. Would die for a burger.” Ian takes one of the beers he’s brought and swallows half of it in one go.

“Can’t do delivery for McDonald’s,” Mickey says, shaking his head as he lights a cigarette.

“S’alright, ‘could go. Feel like one of them apple pies anyway,” Mandy snatches the cigarette from Mickey’s mouth, climbing off the bed. She gives Mickey a knowing look and he gives her the finger. “What you want?”

Soon as Mandy’s gone, Ian butts out the blunt in the ashtray on the bed and starts pulling his jacket off. Mickey thinks he’s just getting comfortable, except he doesn’t stop at his jacket, he’s taking his hoodie and his shoes and socks, and even his t-shirt. He stops when he’s down to his jeans, arms crossed over his chest and says, “Are you getting undressed, or what?”

“What?”

Ian rolls his eyes. “That was the point wasn’t it? Of Mandy calling me? Leaving? You want to fuck.”

Mickey splutters, too drunk to really process what’s happening, what Ian’s saying to him. “She called you cause she wanted you to hang out with us. She left cause she’s an asshole.”

Ian pops the button on his jeans and raises his eyebrow. “So you don’t wanna fuck?” He pulls the zipper down slowly, and Mickey’s eyes catch on the movement.

“Fuck knows if I could get it up. I’m real fuckin’ drunk.” Mickey admits, despite already having a hard dick.

Ian pushes his jeans down his legs and climbs onto Mickey’s bed, on top of him. “Well?”

Mickey stares at Ian for a moment before getting his legs around Ian to flip them over so he’s on top. Ian’s giving him that sharp smile, fighting back, wrestling to get the upper hand again. He wrestles Mickey out of his shirt, biting his shoulder until Mickey’s sure he’s bleeding. Mickey gets them rolled over again, but he seriously misjudges the distance to the edge of the bed, and they fall to the floor with a heavy thump.

“Ow, Jesus.” Ian groans, eyes closed as he rubs at his shoulder. “The fuck.”

Mickey ignores him, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, wriggling out of them until he’s just in his boxers and his socks. Ian gives Mickey that toothy grin he’s easily becoming obsessed with again and flips them over so Mickey’s on his back. Mickey stops fighting when Ian gets him turned over, onto his belly, and his boxers off him.

Ian doesn’t bother with foreplay, using spit to slick his fingers to stretch Mickey, but Mickey honestly doesn’t care all that much. Ian stretches him with two fingers, holding him down with a strong hand in the middle of Mickey’s back as Mickey grunts into the carpet. He only pulls away long enough to put on a condom he finds in a packet under the bed and then presses in.

“Ah, fuck.” He mutters, body aching as it stretches open around Ian’s cock. He pushes back to make the slide easier and puffs out a hot breath over the hands he’s using to prop up his head. Ian uses his knees to part Mickey’s thighs, getting better leverage to fuck down hard into Mickey. He doesn‘t have to jerk his dick, not with the way it rubs against the rough of the carpet every time Ian fucks into him, and it makes his whole body tingle with electricity.

Mickey wants it harder, wants to feel the way Ian fucked him every time he sits for the next week, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it. Turns out he doesn’t even need to ask, Ian just knows, gets his arms under Mickey’s shoulders and uses it as leverage to fuck him so hard he feels like he’s splitting in half.

He groans Ian’s name when he comes, pulling Ian’s own orgasm out of him when his body clenches around Ian’s dick. They get dressed just in time for Mandy’s return, but Mickey, at least, can tell she knows what they did because she doesn’t sit on the bed, just in case.

-*-*-

It takes Mickey two weeks before he goes back to the club. He doesn’t make it inside again, because Ian’s in the alley with some guy and they’re having a full-on punch up. Ian’s face is bruised and bloody, and the guy, who’s now on the ground, has a split lip and a bloody cut on his forehead. Ian looks like he’s winning, and Mickey decides to leave him to it, at least until the other guy pulls him down by his ankle. He looks dazed, and the other guy uses that opportunity to just start fucking wailing on him.

“Ah, fuck,” Mickey swears, staring up at the pitch-black sky before going over to help Ian. He gets a punch to the face as he pulls the guy off Ian, and when he tastes blood, he realises he’s reopened Mickey’s split lip. He kicks the guy in the ribcage a few times until the guy stops fighting back.

Ian climbs to his feet, kicking the guy a few times himself before he reaches into his pocket, taking out his wallet. “C’mon.” Ian takes Mickey’s wrist in his hand and pulls him further into the alley to the street on the other side of the club. They get a few blocks away before Ian stops, opening the wallet, rifling through it. He takes the cash and pockets it, then finds a baggie with five pills in it, probably molly, and says, “Sweet. Want one?”

Mickey makes it a habit not to do club drugs, so he shakes his head.

Ian shrugs and takes one out of the bag, swallowing it. “More for me, I guess.”

“Jesus, Ian.”

Ian makes a face at Mickey. “What are you? My mother?” He throws the wallet in the trash can and pulls Mickey down another alleyway, pushing him up against the brick wall and dropping to his knees.

“Shit,” Mickey swears, lifting his hips from the wall so Ian can pull his jeans and boxers down. Ian sucks Mickey into his wet, warm mouth, licking the head as he reaches underneath to squeeze Mickey’s balls. He’s so fucking good at it, Mickey almost forgot how good. Ian swallows Mickey down to the hilt, nose pressed to his pubes, and he groans into the air, arm over his eyes.

When Ian reaches around to wriggle a spit slick finger inside Mickey to stroke his prostate, Mickey comes, spilling into Ian’s mouth with a grunt of Ian’s name. Ian rises to his feet, wiping the come from his face as Mickey tucks himself back into his pants.

“Want me too…” Mickey begins to offer, pulling his zipper up. Ian shakes his head and leaves Mickey there, back against the brick wall in an alley that smells like piss. Mickey doesn’t bother following him.

-*-*-

Mickey doesn’t see Ian again for weeks, almost four months. He’s stopped showing up for work at the club (not that Mickey asks) and he doesn’t come into The Alibi. Mickey doesn’t care, and he’s not fucking men to forget about Ian, he fucks them ‘cause he can, and he’s a fucking adult. 

When he does see Ian again it’s the first time he’s seen him that he’s not completely strung out. Mickey’s at the grocery store, buying beer and diapers for Yevgeny, and Ian’s there, in the baby aisle, staring up at the shelf, completely lost. Mickey isn’t sure if he should say something or leave, but he doesn’t get a chance to decide, cause Ian’s seen him now. He also doesn’t get a chance to just grab the diapers and bolt when Ian speaks.

“You know anything about diaper rash cream?” He asks, frowning up at the shelves in front of him. When Mickey doesn’t reply Ian looks up at him. “For my niece.”

Mickey licks the side of his mouth, takes a breath in through his nose and pushes forward, taking a Bepanthen box off the shelf and putting it in Ian’s hands. He turns around and takes two bags of diapers off the shelf before he starts to walk away.

“Mickey, wait!’

Mickey doesn’t know why he stops, but he does, turning back to look at Ian. “What?”

“D’you wanna grab a drink?”

“What the fuck for?”

Ian snorts, but he’s very obviously not amused. “Whatever.”

“Whatever,” Mickey mutters, storming away from Ian, angry, despite knowing his anger is completely irrational, and he’s kinda being an asshole. He pays for the beer and diapers, as well as a carton of smokes, then heads out through the alley, lighting a cigarette as he goes.

“Hey!” Mickey grunts, stopping in his tracks to turn around and look at Ian. Ian’s standing at the lip of the alley, and he says, “I’m bipolar.”

Mickey never really thought about it while he was seeing Ian regularly, but now that he’s thinking about it, it makes sense. He remembers seeing it in Mandy before she started her medication. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because I like you,” Ian says, shrugging his shoulders like it’s obvious, or no big deal. “You’re cool. And super hot. I mean, we could just keep fucking, or we could get to know each other? Or whatever.”

Mickey fights the urge to ask why again. “Are you medicated?”

Ian obviously wasn’t expecting that. “Sometimes. I am right now.”

“Okay. Meet me at The Alibi later? Seven?” Mickey offers, taking a drag of his cigarette, letting it hang out of his mouth. At Ian’s nod, he salutes him and turns to walk away.

-*-*-

They don’t make it inside the bar, which was completely not the point, but neither of them cares, not when Ian fucks Mickey in the backseat of his car. It’s dark out and they’re on a side street, but if anyone walked past, what they were doing would be unmistakable. It adds a whole new level of excitement for Mickey, one he’s never felt before. Jesus, he didn’t realise he was an exhibitionist. 

Mickey puts his hands flat against the back window, using it as leverage to fuck back onto Ian’s dick, their skin slapping together. Ian’s fingertips press bruises into Mickey’s hips, and his teeth dig into the meat of Mickey’s shoulder. “Fuck, Ian, harder. _Fuck me harder_.” He demands with a grunt, clenching his fist as he tries to fuck down on Ian harder, desperate to feel all of Ian. Ian meets him halfway, planting his foot on the floor of the car, hips snapping against Mickey’s.

Mickey’s so close, that electricity building in the pit of his stomach until Mickey’s completely overwhelmed and he just needs to come. All he needs is a push over the edge, a hand on his dick, and he doesn’t even have to ask because Ian just fucking knows. When he comes, he spills out against the back of the seat, which he just _knows_ is going to stain. Not that his car was particularly clean in the first place.

When Ian’s come too, he pulls out of Mickey with a groan and collapses onto the seat next to him, carefully pulling off the condom and tying it. Mickey collapses next to him, enjoying the ache in his ass when he sits and pulls his boxers and jeans back up from where they sit around his ankles. He leans forward into the front seat for his smokes, taking the packet into the back with him.

“I think fucking in the backseat was completely against the point,” Mickey says, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag, breathing the nicotine into his lungs. He looks over at Ian as he pulls his jeans up and offers him the smoke, which he accepts. “C’mon, get dressed, I still want that drink.”

Ian gives Mickey that sharp smile, full of teeth, and Mickey ignores the way he imagines crawling into Ian’s mouth and kissing that smile off his mouth.

-*-*-

“What time is it?” Mickey asks when Ian shakes him awake. He’s on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, and it takes him a second to remember stumbling into the Gallagher house at three in the morning after drinking for hours. It’s light out now, and Mickey’s head is throbbing like a motherfucker.

“Midday.” Ian’s sitting on the edge of the bed, lacing up his shoes. “I’ve got to get to work. You’re welcome to stay here, but don’t be surprised if Frank passes out in the bed with you or Fiona cleans around you or something.”

Mickey sits up, clutching his head in his hands and says, “Nah, I’ll head off. Got any aspirin?”

Ian throws a bottle of aspirin at Mickey, hitting him in the head, then climbs off the bed, staring down at him. “Got any plans for tomorrow? We could order pizza?”

“Mm.” Mickey groans miserably, swallowing the pills dry, retching when it goes down with difficulty. “Yeah, you can come to mine.”

“Cool,” Ian replies, giving Mickey that sharp grin. He checks his watch, a devilish look on his face. “I’ve got ten minutes, want a blowjob?”

Mickey’s head still kills but he ignores it in favour of flinging the blanket off his body and pulling his boxers down his thighs. Ian climbs onto the bed over Mickey, settling in between his thighs. Ian’s mouth is hot and wet, and his throat flutters around Mickey’s dick. Mickey gets his fingers in Ian’s hair and pulls so hard he’s sure it must hurt, but Ian doesn’t do anything other than moan around Mickey’s dick. He tries to grind into Ian’s mouth, but Ian holds him down by his hips, and Mickey actually likes that better.

It doesn’t take long until Mickey’s coming, spilling into Ian’s mouth, groaning his name. After it, Ian climbs off of Mickey and the bed, wiping his mouth. When he leaves the room, Mickey doesn’t bother telling him he’s got come on his chin still.

-*-*-

“Coffee, coffee, coffee,” Ian mumbles to himself, almost like a song as he stumbles into the kitchen after Mickey, bleary-eyed and yawning. Mickey snorts at him, reaching for the coffee pot and two mugs from the cupboard. Most of Ian’s siblings are already in there, eating breakfast, and Mickey finds he barely cares anymore that they know he regularly has sex with their brother. “Give me coffee.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and pours coffee into one of the mugs, handing it to Ian. “You’re a big fuckin’ baby.” He knows Ian prefers his coffee with milk and sugar, so he’s surprised when he drinks it as is. He starts mumbling the word _coffee_ again, while he drinks and Mickey finds himself both endeared and creeped out. Ian catches him staring and smiles at him sleepily at, it only makes the weird endeared feeling in his chest grow stronger. His lips tingle with the urge to kiss the grin off Ian’s face and ignores it in favour of drinking his own coffee, purposely black.

“You’re the one fuckin’ keepin’ me up all night. Fuck off.” Ian grumbles, pouting into his coffee cup. Mickey’s positive it’s not his fault Ian’s so tired, he got at least five hours the night before, which is practically unheard of for them. Ian finishes his coffee and holds his mug out to Mickey. “More, more.”

“Gas bill’s due,” Fiona says, holding her hand out to everyone, one person at a time, as they reach into their pockets for money. She stops at Mickey, hand still out, staring at him expectantly. “Well?”

“What the fuck do you want?”

Fiona looks unimpressed. “You use the gas, you put money towards the bills. You spend half the week here, pay up.”

Mickey blinks over at Ian who just shrugs, then grunts and hands over a few crumpled notes from his pocket. “If I’m payin’ for it, I’m takin’ a fuckin’ shower.”

“You really do spend a lot of time here, Mick.” Ian teases, his toothy grin back now that he’s properly caffeinated. He doesn’t look particularly unhappy about having Mickey over so often, in fact, he’s got this weird look on his face when he looks at Mickey. It kinda scares him.

“Fuck off,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes. Ian’s got this stupid smug look on his face and Mickey wants to smack it off him. Instead, he grabs Ian by the shirt and pulls him forward to kiss him viciously. When he pulls away to go upstairs for his shower, Ian is taken aback, his eyes wide and his cheeks red. Mickey feels better.

-*-*-

Mickey realises Ian’s gone off his meds when he starts rearranging the kitchen cupboards at three in the morning. They’d gotten back from The Alibi, and while Mickey had been ready to crash, Ian was wired, skipping down the street, running, singing at the top of his lungs. He’d thought Ian was just _really_ drunk, but even drunk Ian isn’t this… manic.

The banging of pots and pans and the clanging of cutlery brings the others down the stairs, complaining until they see Ian.

“Hey Ian, what are you doing?” Fiona asks gently, putting the bat she’s holding down on the kitchen counter between piles of bowls and stacked mugs.

“Couldn’t find anything, gotta sort it.” Ian gives her an easy smile, like this is a normal three am for them. Mickey feels like his chest is being squeezed too hard, making it hard to breathe.

“Okay, why don’t we do it later? Once we’ve all had some more sleep. I’ll help you.” Fiona says, gently taking the plates from Ian.

Ian shakes his head. “No. Gotta do it before breakfast.”

Fiona looks defeated. “Just… be a bit quieter, okay? The kids have school tomorrow.”

When Ian nods, Ian’s siblings start filing back upstairs until it’s just Mickey and Fiona left with Ian. “I’ve got it,” Mickey tells her, kicking off his shoes and reaching over to take Ian’s jacket off. Ian lets him, before going back to pulling everything from the cupboards. “Just a bit, okay, Ian? Then we’ll go to bed.”

Ian nods again, though Mickey’s not sure he’s actually heard him.

Fiona sighs and squeezes Mickey’s shoulder before she’s heading back upstairs. 

He starts helping Ian empty out the cupboards. They wash them out with soapy water, and once they’re dry, pack everything back in. Mickey does most of it when Ian gets distracted by what’s in the fridge, but he doesn’t mind. He would mind for anyone else but Ian.

By the time they’re done, the sun’s rising and Mickey’s so tired he might actually collapse. “You coming to bed firecrotch?”

Ian doesn’t say anything, but he lets Mickey drag him up the stairs, undress him and put him into bed before joining him.

-*-*-

Mickey’s not particularly well versed in Ian’s average manic-to-depressive times, having no previous experience, but even he thinks a month is a long fucking time.

Fiona agrees with him, but there’s not a lot they can do about it, not when the majority of Ian’s drug refusal comes when he’s manic. They just have to ride it out with him. When his mood drops he spends the better part of five days in bed, and Mickey feels completely useless, unable to help the man he thinks he’s beginning to... really care for.

At least once the depression lifts Ian enters a period of peace rather than regressing back into mania, which according to Lip and Fiona is pretty common for Ian. It means he takes his meds.

Mickey’s familiar with the lethargy, depression and insomnia that comes with medication balancing after seeing it in Mandy over and over again. It worries him, but he knows, at least, it will be over eventually. He just needs to ride it out. They need to ride it out together.

Mickey knows Ian’s out of the hormone imbalanced stage when he wakes with Ian’s mouth trailing kisses down Mickey’s back, over the curve of his ass. They’ve done nothing more than kiss goodbye and hello chastely, so Mickey perks up instantly, desperate.

“Ian,” he whispers, careful not to wake the others in the room. Mickey feels Ian’s mouth turn up into a smile where it’s pressed into his ass cheek. It makes Mickey’s chest hurt, how glad he is to have Ian like this again, not manic or depressed, just in the middle. “C’mere.”

Ian lets Mickey turn over onto his back and climbs up his body, head appearing up from under the blanket. His cheeks are red, and he’s smiling, and all Mickey wants to do is kiss him. So, he does. He pulls Ian down by the back of the neck and kisses him.

His mouth tastes terrible, and Mickey’s must too, but neither care, too happy to have each other again. Mickey squeezes Ian’s ass in his hands, pulling him closer so their dicks rub together through Ian’s boxers, and Ian moans. It gets them a book thrown at them.

“Shut the _fuck_ up!” Carl shouts from his bunk, no doubt waking Liam, too.

Ian pulls away from Mickey’s mouth and rests his forehead on Mickey’s, laughing. “Shower, Mick?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

They climb out of bed and head to the bathroom together. Without a lock on the door, there’s not a lot more privacy than the bedroom, but at least there’s a shower curtain. Ian uses body wash as lube, fingering and pushing into Mickey in quick succession. They hear at least two people come in to start their morning routine while they’re fucking, and somehow it just makes Mickey come quicker, his weird exhibitionist kink back again.

He comes when Ian thumbs over the head of Mickey’s dick, groaning into the ceiling with his head back on Ian’s shoulder. When Ian comes too, and they pull apart, they actually use the shower for its original purpose, using most of the hot water before anyone else can.

-*-*-

When Ian announces he’s going to become an EMT, Mickey has no idea where it’s come from, but he looks so fucking _proud_ of himself, and it makes Mickey’s chest clench. It also makes Mickey feel insecure. Ian’s thinking about his future, and Mickey’s still getting his money from crime. He suddenly feels completely unworthy of Ian, and he hates it. He hates knowing he cares so fucking much about Ian he’s terrified of losing him.

He thinks he might be in love with Ian.

Love. It feels weird. He doesn’t think he’s ever really loved anyone. Maybe Mandy.

His automatic reaction is to pretend and overcompensate, but the thought of fucking Ian over like that? Fucking himself over like that? He can’t do it. He has to tell him; he has to know. Even if Ian doesn’t want to hear it, he has to know.

He thinks people normally make big deals of these things - flowers and chocolates and shit – but it’s not Ian, and it’s definitely not Mickey. Their kind of romance is fistfights, shared blunts and sex in the back of Mickey’s car. Their kind of romance comes in a bottle of whiskey and a pizza box. He likes it like that, dirty and rough, and sharp like Ian’s smile.

Mickey decides it’s just best to get it over with, maybe while they’re doing something that constitutes their special, fucked up brand of romance. (He doesn’t think it will go over well during sex like Ian will think he’s saying it because he’s caught up in the moment).

He stumbles upon the opportunity almost immediately following coming to terms with it. They’re wrestling over the remote in the Gallagher living room, and wrestling almost always ends in sex with them, but Mickey makes sure to keep far away from Ian’s dick (despite desperately wanting Ian to press him face-first into the couch).

When he’s won, sitting on top of Ian’s chest with his knees pinning Ian’s arms to his sides, holding the remote in his hand, waving it triumphantly, he says, out of breath, “I’m in love with you, and if you say anything other than _I love you, too_ I’ll cut out your fuckin’ tongue.”

Ian’s mouth splits into a grin and he wrestles Mickey onto the ground underneath him, the remote forgotten beside them. “Love you too, asshole.”

“Ay!” Mickey shouts, wrestling with Ian again. “That wasn’t what I said! Where’s my fucking knife?”

Ian’s laughing so hard he looks breathless, his face is as red as a tomato, and Mickey wants to kiss him.

So he does.


End file.
